


Cat.Ass.Trophy

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Drunkenness, Gen, One Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Hermione is awoken by crashes and bashes, Crookshanks decides to punish said intruder!





	Cat.Ass.Trophy

**Author's Note:**

> The World of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I do not earn any money from writing this story. The sketch was drawn by Katie McAllister - who gave me kind permission to edit it to suit the story.

 

Image made by: Katemaplebranch find her on tumblr.

 

**Cat.Ass.Trophy**

**(Or: How to humiliate an Ex-Death Eater!)**

CRASH!

BANG!

Muffled swearing.

Immediately, Hermione reached underneath her pillow to grab her wand. The sounds startled her out of her dream. What a dream it was too... It was the first time she had managed to dream of anyone else other than Ron since their massive breakup six months ago. A breakup that caused a media storm for several reasons... It marked the parting of ways for the Golden Trio as Harry was concentrating on his Auror training during the day, and sickeningly in love with Ginny at night time. The other reason was Hermione's second favourite Witch: Molly Weasley.

Hermione giggled at the memory of Ron, not only receiving a bat bogey hex from his sister, but a literal dressing down from his mother! The fact that Molly unwittingly did so in front of a hidden photographer, was the cherry on the trifle. Pensieve evidence of Ron's strings of harlots had cemented Hermione more as Molly's second daughter when she found out what her _dear_ Ronniekins was really up to. Hermione remembered chortling into her tea cup when, the morning after, it made front page news. A small paragraph with a picture of a furious Molly, explained the situation. In small lettering it told the reader to go to pages 7 and 8. A double paged spread went into the Trio's history. How long they had dated, how many girls he had betrayed her with. All accompanied by a picture of Ginny aiming a particularly powerful Bat Bogey Hex. With another, larger colour picture, of photograph Molly angrily aiming the spell to vanish picture Ron's clothes as photo Ron tried to run and hide behind the trees. Only to be forced to jump out clutching hold of his groin sticking his naked backside in the air. It took real Ron several months before he could emerge from his flat without being hounded by press and angry Hermione fans. His pride, though, took a huge dent and he was a quieter Ron now. Less impulsive, definitely not the playboy he tried to be.

It was then a parliament of owls descended upon the Burrow with Hermione's fans; young girls expressing their anger and venom at such a worthless Wizard. Others sent Gigglers – a WWW product to counter act the Howlers – expressing their deepest sympathies that dear, poor Hermione had to put up with that pale backside and the little thing dangling between his legs. The Gigglers caused Ginny to snort into her orange juice as she tried to contain her merriment, though everyone could see the laughter in her mirth-filled eyes. Molly smiled behind her huge cup of tea and humphed: _Serves him right!_ Before acting as if nothing had happened as she went about her daily chores.

The other half of the letters were from Wizards who then expressed their interest in her – saying they had always known that he was a weasel by name as well as by nature – the amount of Slytherins that offered her their services to rid her of Ron was surprisingly long. So, with Ginny's advice, Hermione decided to get Ron out of her system by dating as many Slytherins as she possibly could. Six months later Hermione had left a three-mile-trail of broken hearts behind her. She had welcomed her new found femininity and now knew every trick in the book to snag a gorgeous Wizard for a few weeks. Though there were some she still refused, urging the Wizards to look at other Witches, because she knew that those Witches had expressed a liking for those Wizards in the past.

Today was one such a time. Two of her dearest friends had got married, she went to the ceremony, and stayed behind for the party for long enough to eat the mouth watering dinner that had been elf made. Hermione returned home after a few dances. She offered the couple her heartiest congratulations and promised to get in touch after their Honeymoon in South America. Since the war Hermione had found it difficult to cope with crowds.

The press, due to the amount of weddings that had occurred since she had begun this odd charade, had given her yet another nickname. The Heart of Our World. So now, when she reads about herself, her introduction reads: _Hermione Granger; Gryffindor Princess, Third of the now defunct Golden Trio, fellow saviour and heart of our world._ Not bad, she supposed, but some people tended to shout all her titles in the street. Currently, it was her heart that beat strongly in her chest as she went to investigate.

THUMP!

TUMBLE!

More muffled swearing – this time in another language.

Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by another muttered curse and flung the cover aside to meet the Wizard who braved her extensive Wards. Her cat was wagging its tail on the bed.

“It's all right, Crooks,” Hermione smiled. “I know you will protect me, yes?”

Crooks mewled the positive as he wiped his face against his Mistress outstretched hand.

“Bloody wand not working!” the exclamation caused Hermione to roll her eyes.

Now she knew whom it was that had rudely invaded her space, she found a strappy night dress and threw that over her head. Plucking a robe from a peg on the door to her bedroom, Hermione rushed that on, tying the belt around her waist. After lifting her hair out from the back of the robe Hermione shook her head at her cat. Putting her finger to her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief, Hermione placed the wand in her robe pocket. Crookshanks seemed to mew sarcastically. His opinion of their intruder was extremely low. He could smell who it was. Crookshanks was thinking best on how to humiliate their unwanted guest.

SMASH!

CLANG!

“Follow me, Crooks,” Hermione smirked.

Obediently, the half-kneazle cat jumped off the bed and casually followed his Mistress out of the door. With a whispered Lumos, her wand lit up the dark corridor. Calmly, Hermione took in the state of her hallway. Pictures knocked off the walls, vases smashed, coffee tables on their sides. Magazines strewn over the place already sodden by the water pouring out of the broken crockery.

In amongst the debris sat a dishevelled drunken Wizard who was still drinking from a hip flask. Muttering obscenities in Russian the Wizard seemed to not notice the lights were on as he stretched out his arms in front of him as if he thought that by using his fingertips to feel his way through his imagined darkness nothing else would topple over. As it was, he remained blissfully unaware of the small whirlwind of mess he had already created. Slurring a monotone tune in his native language as he tried, and failed, to stand up several times.

He rolled onto his side – his bottom was just too tempting to Crookshanks – who was literally licking his lips as he prowled close the inebriated human. Hermione made no attempt to stop her cat as Crookshanks sank his teeth right into the Wizards rump! Tearing a piece of cloth out from the Wizards trousers.

Shock caused the Wizard to jump a few feet into the air. Somehow, he managed to stand up, albeit groggily, onto his legs. Using the wall to support his swaying body. Slowly, he blinked as he rubbed the pain of the cat bite. His eyes widened when he saw a rather attractive Witch standing there, with legs that reached to delectable curves, that ended in the most delicious looking pair of eyes he had ever seen. He could not believe the agency held this one back from him.

Making an attempt to straighten himself up, he forgot the chaos he caused as he took a step forward preparing to flirt with the Witch. Only for his shoeless foot to step right onto several glass shards causing him to yelp. Covering his foot with his hands he began hopping and cursing. This was pure Pensieve gold, Hermione sniggered behind her hand, she felt as if she was watching a real life cartoon. Hermione tried to resist whistling airily as she watched this former Death Eater stumbling comically in his agony.

She would give him no sympathy beyond cleaning and straightening the mess of her hallway and curing his cuts. She led him to her living room and made him sit on the couch. Then she went to the Kitchen. Moments later she emerged with a pitcher filled to the brim with water and a big glass. She stopped right in front of him, shook her head with disapproval, as she poured her guest some water.

“Drink this instead of that knut a pint rubbish!” she tutted at the look of scorn on the Wizards face.

Still not sure where he was, or who the Witch was, he accepted the water with an unimpressed scowl. Once he started drinking, Hermione shook her head laughing all the way to her bed. Crookshanks, however, sat on the arm of the chair opposite the Wizard. The tip of his tail flicking casually down the side. Keeping his eye on this male human who, Crooks knew, was after his Mistress. Not that the cat could blame the human. His Mistress was a kind, warm, beautiful person. When the Wizard had finished his second glass he collapsed back in a graceless pose – snoring with his mouth wide open – limbs akimbo.

 C.A.T

The next thing he knew he could smell wonderful bacon, delicious sausages, the scent of grilled tomatoes cemented the deal. He was hungover but he was not throwing up. Minutes later, the Wizard decided to follow the scent of food wafting its way, seducing him like the temptress fried food was to the tormented morning after drunk.

The small kitchen did have a table, enough room for one, and a cat. A ginger cat. Sat on the table with an air of cool indifference. Calm and cold confidence permeated from every bit of fur on the fluff ball. The Wizard shivered under the cats accusing glare. Then he turned his head to see a familiar Witch preparing him his breakfast. His head thumped like crazy. The Witch Accio'd a vial. He watched in silent awe as it gracefully landed in front of him.

“Headache potion,” she explained. "Brewed by me.”

His gaze swept down to her beautifully shaped legs. The hips were ripe for grabbing, his mouth salivated at the thought of not just fried food, but the Witch serving it. Pleasantly surprised that she was wearing nothing but a short nightdress and robe. From which he could see how round and firm her body was. Good, he disliked thin Witches.

He was about to reach out and stroke her sides when the damned cat growled. The Wizard turned and scowled further at the sight of this audacious animal. Dangling from the creatures mouth was a piece of cloth that matched the colour of his trousers. Reaching behind him, the Wizard felt the torn patch from the seat of his trousers.

“How humiliating,” he groaned.

To this the Witch laughed: “What do you expect when you stumble drunkenly in the wrong flat at 3am, Mr Dolohov?”

“Ach, now I remember who you are,” the Wizard groaned clutching his head. “Little Miss Granger!”

Then he turned his head: Hmm, he thought, not so little now. “What made you think you live here?” her smirk did things to the ex-Death Eater. Uneasily, he squirmed in his seat as he tried to suppress his urges. The little Gryffindor got under his skin years ago. “Surely the number on the door was your first clue,” then she shook her head, causing her copious curls to bounce along. “Along with all the wards I set to protect my home?”

“I mistook the 6 for a 9 – sorry, Miss Granger!” Muttered the embarrassed Wizard. “We do have fairly similar wards,” he sighed. “I was too drunk to appreciate the nuances of signature,” he explained, as he began to tuck in to the wonderful breakfast Miss Granger had lovingly provided for him.

Laughing silently, Hermione shook her head, and went back to the frying pan to prepare her own breakfast. “I take it Theo's marriage to Lisa Turpin ended pleasantly?” She enquired whilst flipping the strips of bacon into the pan over.

Antonin nodded carefully: “Too much fun at the party, but then Lucius always did love to show off his hosting skills.”

Hermione blushed. One of her past paramours was Lucius Malfoy. The sex was fantastic. So good she was almost tempted to re-ignite the flame, but he made it perfectly clear that he was still loving the carefree single life. Still, Hermione thought wistfully, she may contact him again for a few more rounds. Also, a small reason why she had left earlier apart from her fear of crowds, was that Lucius was there with leggy blonde number 6.

When she had finished fixing her breakfast she shoved Crookshanks on the floor so she could set her plate down and eat. This did not ruffle the cats fur though, Antonin discovered, when he looked down moments later.

The infernal creature sat on his hind legs. Purring smugly, Crookshanks gazed triumphantly at the dark Wizard, still holding his little trophy from Antonin's ass. That was intolerable so he muttered an inelegant thanks as he stood and swiftly left Hermione's flat.

When his back was turned, he could hear Hermione's silvery laugh, as he left her home. The tinkling sound haunted his every step further up the hall. When he walked inside his own home he immediately went to his bedroom and fell to sleep on his own bed. Still, the sound of Hermione's laughter stuck with him. He had never been so humiliated in all his life.

He could suffer the Cruciatus from Lord Voldemort, Antonin thought, as he drowsily shut his eyes. That was understandable. The Dark Lord could do worse to punish than that at times. But, he groaned as he snuggled into his pillows, I think I have suffered the worst kind of embarrassment. For he, Antonin Dolohov, leader in many unsavoury missions where he was exemplified above even Bella... The great Antonin Dolohov who had killed, maimed, and tortured, had been made to feel like the worst piece of scum.

After all, he grimaced, who does like to be judged... by a **cat**?


End file.
